Ocean of Stars
by Illusionary Ghost
Summary: A year has passed after the first adventures set in SO2, but not everything is as peaceful as it seems. I hope to have two storylines — similar, and yet told by Claude’s and Rena’s alternating viewpoints.
1. Prologue 1 A Story

__

July 22, 2003

(Author's Note: Ever since I first played SO2, 3 years ago, I've been wanting to write a story for it. I can't promise I'll be updating frequently, but I can promise that I will update when I can.) 

Disclaimer: I recognize that the characters and such belong to Tri-Ace Inc./Links/Minato Koio/ Enix. The only thing I could ever own is the game product they sell and the idea for this tale.

Dedication: To all those wonderful people who made this WONDERFUL GAME, Thank you.

Ocean of Stars

By Yashira

Prologue - A story

Sometimes I think the rain is the glistening tears shed by a long lost, tormented God searching for those who abandoned her. I can imagine, as I watch the streaks of water pelt the coloured glass with spasmodic little flicks, that this lost and unknown god wails for those she cannot find. There's a speckle! There's another! This imaginary god of mine must be sobbing up a storm for the rain has picked up its pace and the flicker of lights that spring across the black sky are sullen and angry. Someone must have offended her, or perhaps the grief is too much, but I cover my ears quickly and try not to wince too much as the booming Thunder chases its brother the Lightning. They are her children, but they are ignorant of their mother's despairing laments.

Thunder is a huge burly man. He is tall like a giant and has a dark sinister complexion. This does not make Thunder evil, but it does suggest he's not in the least bit friendly. Why should he be? His brother Lightning hogs all the glory with his radiant complexion, bright demeanor and his most flippant way of lighting up the sky when he doesn't get his way. 

"Miss RENA! Tell us why the lightning and the thunder always fight!"

"Why? Why? Why?"

"Yes, please tell us!!"

Seated on my 3 legged stool and smiling at the gathered group of children by my side, I find myself once more hard pressed to remember the exact same words I had used the last time. I have to get the story just right, you know. If I make a mistake, Ketil will jump up and tell me, 'But you didn't say it like that, last time!' or if he doesn't say it, some other little amusing trickster will get to their feet and say so in his place. Kids are so funny sometimes. They don't much remember their homework or chores, but they can remember a simple little detail in a story as if it had happened to them personally. 

I glanced around me, allowing my blue eyes to take in the anticipating faces of the children seated by my feet or laying down, stretched out, and even leaning forward on eager knees, and that brings a proud smile to my face. All these are from Arlia Village –my village – there's no stranger among them and those that might have once been outsiders are considered as equals in birthright. 

A flash of lightning and rumble of thunder interrupts my thoughts and I automatically look at the curtained windows. Just like my story, there's a storm raging outside, blaring its noisy patter of raindrops over the house's shingles and window frames as if trying to get in. This is perhaps one of the main reasons that I'm telling this current tale; it always helps to have visual aids accentuating my words as it easily keeps their attention on me and not on the disappointment they had earlier. They were so sad when the storm hit and blew out all our well-meaning attempts to house a festival this week; several of them broke down in frustrated tears. With any luck, the storm will abate by the next day and we'll be able to leave our huddled area in the Mayor's house and get a chance to participate in a real life Festival. Oh well. As an old friend of mine would say, it would be a "rain check.". It's an earth idiom, or so I'm told, but I can't help thinking it's actually happened. The rain has come and that puts all the plans in check for now.

"Well," I turn back to the children, not wanting to let them think my quiet meant that I was ignoring their pleads, "Are you sure you wish to know this story? Lightning and Thunder are brothers, but you all know they're not very friendly."

Ketil pipes up, the spoke-kid as they seemed to have unanimously elected him for, and rubs blue curls of hair from his eyes as he stands to face me. He's grown since the first time I met him and I'm pleased with the feeling of delight that touches my heart. No longer solitary and troublesome, he's a remarkably young lad who is now showered by friends and people he's come to love and care about. He smiles at me with that nervous little twist of his lips and says, "We know that, but why?"

I rub a hand over my lips and turn my head to the side as if to consider this carefully phrased question. They've heard this story countless of times and it amuses me when they stare up with innocent faces that suggest this is the very first time they've gathered around my stool.

"Humour them, Rena," the mayor tells me with a voice tickled in mirth and fond memories. I'm half-suspicious that he too wants to hear the story again for he sits on a nearby chair and rubs his white wispy hair absently (but he is still close enough to be able to keep an ear open). I'm sorely tempted to take a moment and tease him, but there are impatient ruffling of clothes from the kids behind me, and that indicates restless children. If I don't hurry up and say something, they'll start moving around on me.

"Okay where-"

The sudden slam of a door as it flies open to careen into the plaster wall behind it sets off a gaggle of cries from the startled children. A series of windswept leaves, soaked with raining tears, come whittling into the room as a figure in dark green storms in. Never had I enraptured a load of children into loving a story so much that they took this newcomer for the sudden embodiment of one of the protagonists of my story. "THUNDER IS GOING TO KILL US!!!!"

"You've been telling that damn story to them again," the voice which speaks to me as frighten children gather around my chair - flinging themselves behind my outstretch hands to protect them - is strikingly familiar. I know that aloof, self-imposed bored tone almost anywhere.

"They asked me to." I set down one of my hands as I point with the other towards the open door behind him. With an exasperated sigh on my lips, "You're letting the rain come in Dias. Hurry up and close the door."

"Fine, fine." He shuts it by kicking it absently with the heel of one of his booted feet. Quickly cutting off the eddies of wind swirls and leaves which lash out tongue soaked finger prints along the welcome mat, he removes his cloak and hangs it up on a nearby peg. I recognize his familiar green tunic beneath it along with his beige-brown pants, but what catches my eyes is his empty scabbord. _Sharpness_ is missing! His distant blue eyes, elusive and yet wary, and set in a face that equally embodies those very words, flickers over me fleetingly. He knows I've noticed, but he says nothing. This is not a matter to be brought up casually among the children and he knows I won't ask with them present. "It's good to see you are well." He drifts by me, his hand running through my short blue hair with a familiarity that most people would –dare not- assume. 

"I'm glad you're okay too. It's been a while, hasn't it?" I push away his hand, more out of embarrassment, than anything else. The children are of an age where such gestures of fondness are instantly teased on and I don't want to hear their teasing, no matter how innocent it is, later. 

"It has," Dias replies simply as he pushes his way to where Regis, our Mayor, sits. Turing to speak to the Mayor, I can see Regis has already gotten to his feet and is gesturing towards the kitchen even before Dias finishes saying this, "I don't suppose you have anything warm to drink, Regis?" 

"If you'll excuse us Rena," Regis whispers an apology and reminds me that the children behind me are still waiting for me to tell my story. "This way Dias… I'll be back soon." 

The kids are still hovering behind me, watching Dias with wary eyes, as he stalks through the room and down the hall into the kitchen. I notice that he's not once bothered to take his boots off and that he's carelessly tracking mud and grass along the floor. Either he's got something serious on his mind, or he's being disrespectful to the mayor. Bidding the children to stay where they are, I follow after. It's not nice to mess up someone's house and I'm going to tell Dias that except, when I get to the kitchen, I stop by the doorway and can go no further.

Dias and Regis are both talking to each other in hushed whispers, the kettle forgotten on the sink's counter, as two words delve into my thoughts and root themselves deep. "Sorcery Globe." 

Drawing back, looking nervous and uneasily and I swear my heart's just leapt into my throat because I can't feel it beating in my chest anymore, I realized this is one piece of news I did not want to hear. 

Sorcery Globe. Heaven help us.


	2. Prologue 2 Home

(Author's Note: Just as there are two ways to start the game, I wanted to have two possible beginnings here. I hope I can have two storylines — similar, and yet told by Claude's and Rena's alternating viewpoints, which would allow you, the reader, to choose which way you'd like to go. Also, this takes place as if the events in Star Ocean: Blue Seed never existed. If you don't know what I'm talking about, this is an SO2 sequel. Unfortunately, it has not been released here yet, and it's only for Gameboy colour. Thanks to Sandra for looking this chapter over for me.) 

Ocean of Stars

By Yashira

Prologue 2 -Home

The smell of Mom's cooking, although not as fragrant and succulent as the meals Rena's mother can whip up, is still, with its invisible beckoning fingertips, able to rouse me from fevered half-dreams. Has it really been a year since me and my friends put a stop to the Ten Wisemen's nefarious plans? It's hard to believe that so much time has passed since I last beheld the tearstained and fond faces of friends wishing me well on my return trip to the Federation – to Earth. I know I promised each one of them that I'd come back after I finish up on my examinations and such, but I just can't find a moment to pull away – to go back to Expel. It's not like I don't want to go; after all, didn't I once turn my back on my father by refusing to return to the Calnus?

The Calnus. Dad. 

Maybe that's what's troubling me, keeping me from returning with such a heavy heart. Although it was the right thing to do, I still betrayed the duty and responsibility I owed to my father. It's a weight on my soul that devours me in my darkest moments and makes me wonder how I could so much as dare to cherish the private and sacred hopes that my friends are happy and healthy, when he is dead. Yes, I was always in his shadow, always fighting to make a name for myself without having to fall back on him, but that didn't mean I didn't love him… that I don't miss him as terribly as I do now. I know, if I'd been on the Calnus, I would have been just as helpless as he was. I would have suffered the same fate and allowed not just one, but all worlds to die, but knowing doesn't change the hurt inside me. It just makes it a little less unbearable.

I just can't go back now. They can live without me for a few more years… and I can at least get a title – I've already been promoted to lieutenant -- even a badge, in memory for my father. Don't get me wrong. I don't really care for such things personally, it's not for me, but… 

"Claude, dinner!" 

Mom's voice calls me from my internal struggle, reminding me that what my nose had warned me about earlier is now on the table. She didn't really have to cook, as we have replicators, but I don't mention that to her anymore. After living on Expel and sampling much of their cuisine, I find a home-cooked meal rather pleasing and I look forward to those moments when she actually cooks. 

Sliding quickly from my bed and adjusting my loose shirt and beige slacks, freeing it of bed wrinkles, I take a quick look into the mirror with a disapproving frown. My frizzy blond hair is a mess, and no matter how I try to comb it into some semblance of order, it refuses to obey. This just won't do. I can't waltz into the dining room looking like a guy hit by a tornado. My mom will take – as I'm sure all mothers everywhere do -- the hands-on approach. That consists of putting her hands EVERYWHERE on my body in some parental attempt to fix clothing that should be worn a certain way. It's annoying, but what can I do? I only have her now, and if I argue, things always manage to somehow return to the topic of dad… 

"CLAUDE!!"

"I'm coming!" Great, now she sounds mad. Whatever thoughts I had been thinking seem to melt away as I lunge for the door. Jerking it open and running into the hall before she calls my name again, I shout back, "I heard you the --"

But instead of being able to finish my words, I find myself cut short, unable to speak. I've been struck dumb and yes, I feel like I've been hit over the head with a smith's hammer. Dressed in her black, revealing gown (perhaps even the very same one she was wearing when we first met) that shows off her shapely left leg, and toting a short-sleeved jacket, is Opera Vectra. She hasn't changed much. Her smile is still nostalgic, her long, golden hair just as shiny as it was then, and her three eyes (that mark her as a Tetragenes) light up with fondness as she catches sight of me. 

"Claude, it's great to see you." But the voice doesn't come from her, but the taller gentleman standing beside her dressed in what appears to be a white trench coat over black slacks and shirt. My eyes nearly bulge out of my skull as I recognize him too. With his three eyes, stubble-covered chin, and blond hair, I'd be an idiot if I couldn't name Ernest Raviede -- Opera's boyfriend. 

"Ernest! Opera! I can't believe my eyes. What are you doing here?!" I run towards them and offer my hand to Ernest, who grips it fiercely before I turn politely to give Opera a hug. Opera glances over to Ernest, but I don't miss the troubled look the two of them exchange and that plagues me with worries. Does this mean this visit isn't simply one to pay their respects? "Is something wrong?"

"I didn't want to bring it up right away," Ernest admitted with obvious discomfort as his hand searched the pockets of his coat for a cigarette he could not find. "In fact, we should sit down and share some tea, discuss old times. Where is it?"

"Dear, you quit that disgusting habit, remember?" Opera wore that look that hinted how rude it would be to smoke in someone else's apartment. "Claude, we're sorry about interrupting your dinner, but what Ernest is trying to say is that Expel is in trouble again."

Those words jolted me. I view Expel with the same fondness as I view Earth; it's my home away from home. To hear Opera's worried voice breathe those uncomfortable words sends a cramp through stomach. "In trouble? What? How?! Didn't we get rid of --"

"I don't understand it either," Ernest tells me with a serious sigh, "but Expel was hit with another Sorcery Globe."

"WHAT?!"


End file.
